


Du Riechst So Gut

by itzteegan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Adoribull Big Bang 2020, Adoribull Holiday, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Anal Sex, Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Canon Trans Character, Fae & Fairies, Gay, Gay Sex, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Other Fandoms Not Mentioned in Tags, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Scenting, Sex, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Vampire Bites, Vampire Dorian Pavus, Vampires, Werewolf The Iron Bull, Werewolves, fandom references in the background, see how many you can spot!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:08:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25810333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzteegan/pseuds/itzteegan
Summary: When newly-minted Magister Dorian Pavus goes to hire a bodyguard, he only goes through the motions because it's what isexpected. What draws him to the hulking Qunari known as The Iron Bull isn't strictly professional, but ... as they say,the nose knows.
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 28
Kudos: 75
Collections: The Adoribull Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the Adoribull discord for helpful suggestions on mythical creatures to include in this story! Even if most are only in passing mention, it was a huge help. :) Also, huge, HUGE thanks to [parttimelover](http://partimelover.tumblr.com) for the incredible art that came of this. I am seriously in awe of how amazing and gorgeous it looks! <3
> 
> Also, thank you to Mozzy for hosting this challenge despite ... well, _everything_ going on in the world right now. It hasn't been the easiest challenge, but it sure is satisfying and it's been fun despite the struggles. :)
> 
> And quick note before I let you get into the fic ... I've obviously taken a lot of liberty shoving all of these different lores into this one world, so I've adjusted and tweaked here and there to help some things fit. So please pardon any oddities you might see! Also, anyone who can spot and name every single fandom and reference gets an internet cookie. ;)

~~~

Dorian sighed. “I don’t know how I let you talk me into this, you know. I’m perfectly capable of defending myself if need be.”

Maevaris tittered, her fangs peeking out between ruby red lips. “It’s nothing to do with not being capable, darling, it’s a _status symbol_ .” Motioning to the vast marketplace they were encroaching upon, she continued, “Having a special bodyguard means _you_ are someone special, and furthermore can afford to flaunt it.”

He snorted as he considered her point. She was right, of course, Maevaris was always right. And extravagant gestures of wealth was not exactly something he was opposed to, but he usually preferred to invest in bottles of wine or nigh priceless tomes, not employees he didn’t really need. But he was now officially a Magister, and as a Magister there were now more expectations of him. Job related ones, naturally, but also expectations regarding his wealth and status. As much as Dorian loved peacocking, however, this particular aspect didn’t excite him.

But he was here and he supposed he might as well go along with this.

The marketplace was a cacophony of sound, the chatter so loud it seemed a wonder that Dorian could hear much of anything at all. While Mae had led him there, she followed his lead once they entered – her own brightly coloured Amphithere bodyguard, Faust, slithering along behind her – and he was grateful that she would allow him to make his own decision about a bodyguard. Certainly the highest ranking Magisters had the most unique, exotic bodyguards culled from the highest skilled suppliers across Thedas, but he wanted his decision to be his own. The air around them practically vibrated as they both made their way around the edge of the marketplace first, scouting before they ventured deeper.

Daímonas eyed them from their devils traps, etched on the ground permanently to ensure compliance, their eyes flicking black or red as their lips curved upwards in a sneer. A couple of them were quite entrancing – one in particular whose eyes flashed white instead of red or black – but he ultimately decided to pass. While quite powerful, especially when paired with a mage, they could also be unpredictable and required specialised charms to handle, rendering them more or less a pet, which Dorian was entirely uninterested in. He was here to hire an employee, he didn’t want to have to watch after them and fear that if he wasn’t as vigilant he might find himself stabbed in the back by his own bodyguard. Quite inconvenient, and not the irony he found he enjoyed.

The wendigos were a strange bunch, completely human upon first glance, but the longer one stared at them, the more it would register that something was … _off._ Dorian knew of a fellow Magister who had a wendigo as a bodyguard, and while not physically imposing, it would creep around behind him, staring a hole into the soul of anyone who encountered them, their eyes and head and limbs somehow seeming more and more stretched and their lips impossibly wide, their gums extra shiny and their teeth somehow sharper by the minute. It gave him chills every time, and he was glad they rarely had a reason to interact.

Needless to say, he passed over the group without a second thought, not wanting the knowledge that just behind him was that unnerving stare.

Maevaris sashayed behind him as they walked past, lowering her voice to murmur when they were out of earshot, “I’m so glad you decided not to go with one of them, darling, I might have had to cut down on our social calls.”

Dorian threw her a smirk. “Well we can’t have that, now can we?”

After the wendigos, he browsed the more exotic spectrum of offerings, and from the rare intelligent deathclaws of a far off wasteland to the fierce reptilian warriors for hire from the secluded and secretive marshlands of Argonia, he was not left wanting for variety. He briefly considered a large, strong looking ghoul that hailed from the same land as the deathclaw, but his eerie glare and propensity to only grunt put Dorian off. If he was going to hire someone to follow him around all the time, he would prefer someone he could actually converse with, at least casually, though as he went over what he was looking for in his head he quickly realised he may be placing his standards a bit too high …

Near the top of that list was “large and intimidating”, for one, because if he was going to spend his money he was going to go big or go home … literally. Adaptable to sudden schedule changes, as Dorian oft liked to simply take off on a mid-day excursion or suddenly withdraw into the depths of his library, researching a random and usually minor topic that he was suddenly invested in, not to mention the varying demands of his new job that might see him in his office through the night. _Not creepy looking_ , as he didn’t quite hold a high regard for the macabre aesthetics that some of the other Magisters did. And also intelligent enough to hold a conversation with, perhaps not a deep philosophical one, but a conversation nonetheless. All of these factors, however, tended to clash and contradict the other when it came out in the available bodyguards. The metallagménos were definitely large and intimidating, and they didn’t seem to care about a varied schedule, however their odd mouths and sickly green skin were slightly off-putting, and when combined with the lack of intelligence – one even went so far as to brush him off with, “Puny human talk too much, give Strong a headache!” – meant that Dorian ended up giving them a pass. Likewise, the Adarna was intriguing, lovely to look at with its luminescent feathers, and even smarter than Dorian had been seeking, but it … just looked like a bird. Not exactly the big, scary sort, either, just a pretty bird. Sure it was able to turn targets to stone as well as heal, but Dorian felt that if he wanted something that looked like a pretty pet, he could just buy a pretty pet.

Dorian was beginning to develop a headache as he filtered through the different choices, wondering if perhaps he would ever find a bodyguard that fit his particular standards. Even Maevaris was looking bored, sighing and tapping her foot whenever he’d walk away from what he assumed she deemed a perfectly acceptable candidate. She finally moved to voice her concern as he walked away from a bevy of Lindwurms – cousins of a sort to her own Amphithere – settling a hand on his shoulder as she began with, “Dorian, dear, you don’t think you’re being too _picky_ about this?”

The new Magister snorted. “I thought it was you who, when I suggested I have someone hire one for me, insisted that I needed to find one myself who would have the right … what was the word you used? Oh yes … _chemistry_.”

Mae rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, if I had known then that this shopping trip would have turned into an all day affair, perhaps I would have kept that opinion to myself. These shoes are _not_ ideal for all this walking,” she grumbled.

After a few minutes more, Dorian posited, “Perhaps I just need to go somewhere else, then.”

“Dorian, _sweetie_ ,” Maevaris purred, the exasperation just barely hidden in her tone, “this is the largest market in all of Tevinter. You could want for no bigger variety or greater quality than what you find here. Quite frankly, if you don’t find someone here, you won’t find someone _anywhere_.”

He sighed at that, feeling just as exasperated as she was, truly ready to just throw in the towel and come back another day … though that meant he would likely find himself in the exact same position he was in now, and he wasn’t sure which was worse. Present Dorian would have loved to simply say screw it, throw up two fingers, and leave the task for later. But Future Dorian, he knew _he just knew_ would rip him a new arsehole for it. _This is exactly what your instructors would harp on,_ he would think, he could envision it now, _‘Dorian, you’re too flighty. Dorian, you’re brilliant but you procrastinate far too much. Dorian, have we not discussed this with you countless times before?’_ Ugh, he could have really done without the lectures then and he knew they would only come back to haunt him if he continued to give in to old habits now.

It was as he was wallowing in despair that he caught whiff of a scent that had him standing stock still in his tracks. At first he couldn’t quite even pinpoint what it was, but his enhanced vampiric sense of smell started kicking up just to try to figure it out. It smelled like … like wild and musk, of dark nights and the moonlight and campfires and an undercurrent he couldn’t even pinpoint that struck him with an intense longing to find the source. Vaguely he could hear Maevaris saying something, but he couldn’t even concentrate on what she was conveying as he stalked through the aisles, sniffing long and deep and following along the trail that it left. He was now on the complete opposite end of the market from where he’d started, stepping so quickly and hastily that he very nearly smacked into a wall of grey muscle.

At first he was annoyed but then, then he realised _this was the source_ ! The source being a tall, scarred Qunari wearing an eye patch and a wolfish grin that Dorian soon realised wasn’t simply metaphorical … he was a _werewolf_ and suddenly parts of the scent made all the sense in the world, the realisation and the strength of it hitting him all at once. For a moment he could only gape at the man standing before him, his thick, muscled arms curled around his chest, and it was only when he chuckled and spoke that Dorian was finally shaken out of his stupor.

“I could flex if you want, give you a little show.”

Dorian could have choked, but simply raised an eyebrow even as he felt his cheeks begin to heat, holding on to his composure even if it was only by the barest of threads. Subtly clearing his throat, he asked, “And who are you?”

“They call me The Iron Bull.”

_The Iron Bull._ Well, it was certainly an interesting name. Dorian couldn’t resist clarifying, however, “The Iron Bull? I would have thought The Iron Wolf was more appropriate.”

At that, the tall mercenary for hire threw back his head and let loose a hearty laugh, revealing the short fangs that werewolves typically sported. “Yeah, well, the fur only comes out at certain times, but the horns are a permanent fixture.”

Was that … was that a _wink_ ? Dorian had a bit of a difficult time telling since The Iron Bull had one of his eyes covered, but it looked awfully deliberate on his part. _Something_ , Dorian couldn’t quite tell what, thrummed in his chest, and he suddenly found himself asking, “How much to hire you?” He barely knew anything about him, and a small part of him was alarmed that he was going through this process at a downright rapid pace, considering how he’d approached all the others. He’d never even gotten to the point of asking about wages and hiring fees because something or another had turned him off or disqualified whatever candidate he’d been inquiring about.

The Bull chuckled. “Not gonna ask me anything else? Don’t wanna know my experience, my work history, my expertise …?”

Dorian internally shook his head. This was a business transaction, and he needed to act as such. Thus he did indeed ask such pertinent questions as most prospective employers did, though truth be told he barely listened to the answers. He’d already made up his mind, after all, this was just a formality, a dance, the wining and dining one did to a lover before taking them to bed. And once all the questions had been asked and the answers given and the money had changed hands, the new Magister found himself walking out of the marketplace with a brand new bodyguard in tow. As he was doing so, he seemed to fully realise that he had actually gone through with the whole thing, and he could only think, _Well, I hope Maevaris is pleased with herself._

If the way she shot him a grin and raised an eyebrow was any indication, it seemed he was due for a round of gloating whenever they met next. He could have groaned at that prospect, but he chose simply to raise an eyebrow of his own and treat it nonchalantly. After all, bodyguards and mercenaries were hired every day in the Imperium.

The fact that it was his _scent_ that had drawn him in rather than anything else, however, was a little secret that Dorian was going to keep to himself.


	2. Chapter 2

If he took a moment to think about it, he might have been concerned just how smoothly The Iron Bull inserted himself into Dorian’s life and daily routines, but the magister chose to ignore it. Instead, he wrote it off as an excellent hiring decision, patting himself on the back with how picky he’d been. Clearly his high standards had paid off and his new bodyguard acclimated so well and so quickly because he met those standards. It certainly had nothing to do with anything else. At least, nothing else he cared to think about as he went about his daily business.

In the evening, however, after The Bull had bid him a good night, retiring to the attached room to Dorian’s quarters, not all questions stayed at bay. Indeed, after he had a few glasses of wine, he was quite tempted to ponder just what had drawn him to the lycanthropic Qunari in the first place. He didn’t, of course, but he was tempted all the same until he finished off a lovely bottle of Vyrantium Red and crawled underneath his silken sheets. There he was inundated with the lovely scent of the herbal detergents that the servants used, a combination that served to relax and calm him as he drifted off to sleep, his dreams blessedly free of any large, hulking bodyguards.

+

Dorian awoke the next morning to the sounds of a scuffle, and bolting upright he froze in place as he saw his bodyguard in his personal quarters, mostly naked and wrestling with an intruder. He’d initially wanted to yell as his body just knew it was _far_ too early to be conscious, but at the current sight before him, he found his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. While The Iron Bull normally eschewed shirts, he still wore a harness, trousers, boots, some bits and bobs of armour. At the moment, however, he wore nothing save a … was that a _thong_? It did appear to be, and it did very little to preserve the Qunari’s modesty, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.

And, from what Dorian got an eye full of, that poor material had quite the job in and of itself just to cover The Bull’s substantial … ahem … _assets_.

He was snapped out of his frozen state as his bodyguard finally wrestled the intruder to the ground, cinching in a hold as he looked to his new employer. “Was just getting up for the toilet when I heard something. I’m guessing his poisoned dagger,” he gestured with his head toward a blade on the floor, “was meant for you, but he tried to turn it on me when I intercepted him.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow, rising and pulling on a silken robe as he trekked over to the pile of flesh on the floor. The stranger pinned beneath The Bull wasn’t immediately familiar to him, but that wasn’t a surprise. Assassins didn’t usually make it a habit to associate with their targets before carrying out a contract, after all. As he looked up at the magister, his nose bloodied and his eye starting to gain colour around it, he didn’t sneer or grimace, instead keeping a passive face. Dorian, however, smirked, considering it a great stroke of luck that he’d been captured instead of escaping or, worse, killed. “Bull, if you would be so kind as to take our guest to the dungeon, I would like to interrogate him.”

The Qunari grunted. “Yes, boss.” And with that, he hauled the man up on his feet and dragged him out of the room.

If Dorian’s gaze stayed a little longer than truly necessary and if the image of The Bull’s rounded ass remained firmly in his mind for the rest of the day, well … no one was the wiser.

Sighing, he figured that since he was up, he might as well get the day started. He certainly wasn’t going to go back to sleep after that kind of excitement, and so he had his servants draw a bath for him while he mused over which robes to wear for the day. As he pondered, he frowned slightly, his mind already working at who might have sent an assassin at him. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have any enemies, and he’d had a few attempts before. But none had been able to make it so far as his own personal quarters. Shuddering, he made a mental note to thank Maevaris the next time he saw her, as if he hadn’t hired The Iron Bull, he couldn’t be sure he would have woken in time to avoid a poisoned dagger. _She will be insufferably smug to know she was right,_ he mused as he decided on a robe made of lush ring velvet and silk, setting it on a divan before he lowered himself into the steaming water.

The Iron Bull returned while he was still lounging in the tub, its temperature kept nice and hot by his own magics. His bodyguard at least was dressed this time, and his singular eye roamed the floor until he spotted the dagger once more, still lying where it had fallen. Grunting, he squatted, eyeing it for a moment before he reached down with a strip of cloth and picked it up, turning it this way and that as he inspected it before carefully wrapping it. “Stormheart. Fancy,” was all he commented before he stood once more. “I assume you’ll want to take a look at it, too?”

“Naturally,” Dorian replied from his reclining position in the tub, the warm, sudsy water encasing his body just perfectly for the time being. “I’ll run some tests on the poison, see if there are any clues. I could always compare it to the last time.”

“Last time? This isn’t the first time an assassin has snuck in?”

“Of course not, I’m a Magister, it’s part and parcel of the job.” Frowning slightly, he added, “This is the first time they’ve gotten as far as my private chambers, however.”

With a somewhat displeased-sounding grunt – Dorian wondered for a moment if The Iron Bull had truly understood what kind of job he’d taken on – his new bodyguard changed the subject with, “The intruder’s in the dungeon, whenever you want to talk to him.”

“Excellent,” he replied, sighing as he willed himself to stand and exit the lovely, warm water. “Of course, if he’s half as smart as I think he is, he won’t say a word. But, might as well try, yes?” Reaching for the nearby towel, he dried himself off, sparing only a glance behind him when there was no response of any kind, only silence.

The Iron Bull’s jaw was slack, his eye focused on one part of Dorian’s anatomy in particular – a very nice part, if Dorian’s opinion was worth anything – and the magister chuckled, causing the bodyguard’s eyes to snap back up to meet his gaze. “Yes, boss?”

“Enjoying the view?” The Bull only cleared his throat, to which Dorian’s grin only grew further. “Can’t say I blame you, it is one of the finest asses in Tevinter, the result of generation upon generation of proper breeding. And besides,” his eyes flashed with amusement as he added, “turn about’s fair play.”

+

As he suspected, further questioning of the assassin yielded nothing – the man was loyal enough not to give away his employer, confirming that he wasn’t just a run of the mill blade for hire – and while his silence was admirable, Dorian wasn’t about to let him go running back to his master with the secrets of getting into the Pavus estate and how to go about it. The Bull made it quick and clean, however, spattering not even a drop of blood Dorian’s way. A definite plus, considering his current robes were not exactly made to conceal it, unlike some of his others. Today was not a feeding day, however, and the dark blue velvets and creamy silks were some of his personal favourites, and therefore not what he wanted to stain, especially not over an assassin.

Likewise, the dagger yielded little information, save that the design itself was unique. Unfortunately, there was nothing recognisable about the carvings and inlays set in the stormheart, and the poison was some generic swill one could obtain in the right back alleyways of Minrathous, relatively harmless to most species, save vampires. Whoever had sent the assassin, while they had seen to it that they were well equipped, had not specially brewed a poison themselves. Either they hadn’t the talent, or perhaps they wanted to preclude it being traced back to them.

Either way, the little investigation took up the morning hours, so much so that when The Iron Bull took a meal, it was only then that Dorian realised the time.

“After you eat, I’ll need you to accompany me to some shops, I’d like to put something together before the day is out.”

His bodyguard grunted. “Sure, boss. Anything in particular?”

Dorian smirked. “Actually, yes. I need a dress uniform for you for the ball.”

The Iron Bull actually choked. “The what now?”

Magister Pavus tutted. “Not that I would expect you to know, but it _is_ the most prestigious event in the Imperium, held every year by the Archon, himself. Magisters and Altuses and even the elite Soporati alike all vie for invites.”

The Bull chuckled as he noted, “And you have one.”

“Well of course I have one, House Pavus is only one of the most distinguished houses in Tevinter.”

“And I have to get all gussied up to go with you.”

“Following me around is in your job description, yes?”

Dorian could practically feel the eye roll radiating from him. “Yes,” he replied simply.

“It’s settled, then. I can’t very well have my bodyguard attending the most elite social function of the year in naught but a harness and scuffed boots and …” Dorian gestured in The Bull’s general direction, “… whatever you call those trousers, there.”

If possible, The Bull looked offended. “What’s wrong with my pants?”

Dorian laughed. “My dear, what _isn’t_ wrong with them?” Shaking his head, he went on, “Never you mind. For day to day, it suffices, but for a special occasion we need something with a little pizzazz. So, shops. This afternoon. You and me.”

The hulking werewolf actually looked downright flustered for once, but he nodded all the same as he confirmed, “You got it, boss.”


	3. Chapter 3

Shopping was one of Dorian’s favourite pastimes – other than drinking and general debauchery, of course – and while The Iron Bull didn’t quite seem enthused with flitting from store to store, he seemed content enough to stand there and let Dorian do his thing. Which, really, that was all he needed The Bull to do, just stand there as he poured over fabric swatches and jewelry options, occasionally holding them up against his grey skin to see what contrasted well and what didn’t.

“You know,” one of the shopkeepers pointed out, “if you don’t put some bands and chains on his horns, that would be a real missed opportunity.”

“Fantastic idea,” he agreed. “Can’t use silver, of course, both of us would go into anaphylaxis. What about bronze?”

“If you’re going to go all out, why not just go for gold?” she suggested.

He chuckled. “Of course, you’re right, silly me. Now, about a waistcoat …”

They spent far longer than was probably necessary going over design options, but Dorian was nothing if not a perfectionist. He had a specific vision in his mind, and though they had to adjust with some alterations – considering The Bull wouldn’t be able to pull much over his head – between the few trusted shopkeepers Dorian visited, he was able to put in the orders. It surely was an interesting experience, if anything, for the mercenary turned bodyguard, as Dorian figured he likely hadn’t had any assignments where dressing up once in a while was a requirement. He seemed a little consternated when the seamstresses took measurements and even tried a few jacket and shirt styles on him in the biggest sizes they had – still too small for the Qunari – but he bore it all the same with a quiet politeness. _If I’d known he’d be this amenable to playing dress up for me, I might have insisted on doing this straight out of the market._ But, lesson learned, and Dorian quietly filed away a few ideas for some fetes of his own that would require something fresh and new for The Iron Bull to don. After all, it just wouldn’t do for Dorian Pavus’ personal bodyguard to wear the same thing at different events, now would it?

While the head seamstress had nervously whispered to him the price to not only create the dress uniform for The Iron Bull but also have it made in time, Dorian had waved it off and supplied extra, to ensure prompt attention and delivery. Judging by the way her eyes gleamed, Dorian judged he had included a sufficient bonus.

As they walked along the streets, aiming for the Pavus estate, The Bull inquired, “I don’t suppose you have to get something for yourself, do you?”

Dorian let out a hearty laugh. “Of course not, I already had something commissioned ages ago. It’s hanging in my wardrobe at this very moment, pressed and ready to go on the day.”

The Bull smirked. “Should’ve known.” A moment’s silence passed before he asked, “Do you do anything aside from shop and research?”

Putting on an air of faux shock, he raised a hand to his chest as he played the wounded party. “I’ll have you know that even as a new member of the Magisterium, I take my duties very seriously.” With the look The Bull shot him, it seemed the bodyguard wasn’t quite buying it, and thus Dorian added, “‘Tis true I have ample time to pursue my own interests at the moment, but I suspect things won’t stay like this for long. Though I’ve been involved with the same circles as before, in time, I will take on more and more duties until I’ll scarce have room to breathe. Ha! Me! Responsible! That will be the day, I’m sure.” Shooting him a good-natured grin, he added, “I’m simply enjoying this while I can, before the hounds of responsibility sink their teeth in.”

The Iron Bull’s grin bared his small fangs. “Perish the thought, eh?”

Dorian harrumphed. “We all have to grow up someday, I suppose.”

They paused in one of Dorian’s favourite plazas, situated close enough to the sea that one could feel the barest amount of salt spray as the waves kicked up. A soft smile graced the Magister’s face as he well remembered the seemingly endless summers he’d spent as a youth, frolicking on the beach, diving into the sea and swimming as deep as he could, his enhanced strength more than enough to account for any currents that might try to sweep him away. It had been a time of carefree indulgence, before he’d had to take studying a little more seriously, prepare himself for his career and set up his path to success. It was before he’d carefully crafted the façade of Altus Pavus, the mask he now wore constantly as he played the deadly game. He couldn’t quite recall the last time he’d even been to the beach, his more recent memories of the waves all recalled from the very spot he stood.

“You alright, boss?” The voice of his bodyguard broke through his thoughts, pulling him away from the whimsical recall of his youth.

“Yes, quite. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you this quiet since you hired me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You know, one of those people who just can’t stop talking. No offense, boss.”

Dorian snorted. “I do sleep, thank you very much.”

“Sleep and look at the ocean?”

The Magister almost had a witty retort at the tip of his tongue, but faltered, The Iron Bull’s playful jest hitting a little deeper than intended, surely, a little closer to the truth than Dorian wanted to acknowledge. So instead he cleared his throat and changed the subject as he led them away from the plaza and the smell of the sun-drenched ocean salt.

+

Dorian’s schedule in the days leading up to the event was constantly in flux, changing seemingly on the hour so that he barely even had time to think of it. ‘Twas good fortune, he figured then, that he’d long seen to any lingering fashion issues weeks before. Once again, he could almost hear his instructors complaining as if he was still standing before them as an apathetic, rebellious youth. _“If only you’d prepare your studies akin to your wardrobe, your marks would be even better.”_

_“My marks are already top of the class,” he’d countered, and they’d frowned and hemmed and hawed and blustered about how that wasn’t the point._

Well, he was a Magister now, so he supposed the point was moot.

As he traipsed between his estate and the Magisterium and his new office, The Iron Bull was a constant companion at his side, and Dorian found that the company was not wholly unwelcome as he might have feared before. He was, at least at one point in time, what one would have considered a loner, an isolated traveler all alone on his journey through life and quite content for it. While he enjoyed the few friends he had – and they were definitely few in number – he always still felt the need to withdraw and recharge himself, to find his peace in the quiet sanctity of his own mind, the only place he actually felt free of the responsibilities that plagued him, from simply existing as a Scion of House Pavus all the way up to being the newest member of the Magisterium. But this company he now held … it did not feel like such a heavy burden, not at all like he’d thought it might. If anything, it felt welcome, The Iron Bull’s calm and serene yet threatening presence providing a steady hand, his heady scent always filling the air around Dorian until at times he thought he might get light-headed from it. Yes, Maevaris had been quite right about this, quite right indeed.

Not that he was ever going to tell her that much, mind.

Thankfully, as busy as he was keeping during the day, the evening still gave way to a comfortable lull, which usually resulted in Dorian relaxing with a glass of wine, The Iron Bull now joining him, kicking back with a large mug of ale. Not enough, he assured Dorian, that he couldn’t perform his duty. Just enough to enjoy the taste. 

“The taste?” Dorian exclaimed, wrinkling up his nose. “I suppose you mean the unique yeasty notes of unwashed trousers, do you?”

The Iron Bull threw back his head in a laugh. “I could say the same with your rotten grape juice, you know.”

At that, his bodyguard had him. Shrugging, he offered, “Fair enough.”

Despite their different preferences, they were more than happy to sit together and relax as the evening wound down, even when the hours approached that signaled The Bull was off duty, still he stayed. When Dorian noted that, The Iron Bull waved it off nonchalantly with, “And where else would I go?”

“I don’t know. Don’t you have any friends? Family?”

At that, his drinking partner winced. “Family is, uh … not really a thing under the Qun. Not like it is for you, at least. We live in the pack, we’re raised by the pack, we work for the pack. Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, those kinds of bonds are non-existent. We live, work, fight, and die for the good of the pack or else.”

“Or else …?”

“Or else you get tossed out. Branded an outsider. _Tal-Vashoth_.”

Dorian had heard the term before, but knew little about it’s meaning or context. He tried, instead, to side-step it as he asked, “Well, your pack, then. Are they close? Have you been away long?”

His side-stepping, however, ensured he stepped firmly into the awkwardly personal territory he was attempting to avoid. “Tal-Vashoth don’t have packs.”

“Ah,” he simply replied, putting two and two together in his head, as it were. The Iron Bull was Tal-Vashoth, therefore had no family, and likely no friends outside of what had been his pack. How he’d been cast out and for what remained unanswered, but he wasn’t about to probe too deeply. “I apologise, I know little of Qunari culture.”

“Probably about as much as I know of ‘Vint culture,” The Iron Bull returned, a familiar twinkle in his eye that meant all was well.

“Oh come now, it’s not as if we’re complicated,” Dorian tutted. “We drink wine and blood, not always in that order, and most of us enjoy the finer comforts in life.”

“Or cater to those comforts.”

“Precisely. See? Not that difficult.” Sighing, he set his empty glass on the small table beside his chair. “There is more, of course. We are … we are a very passionate people. When we have an interest, we throw every part of ourselves into it. We want to learn every little thing about it, leave no stone unturned.”

“Heh. So that’s why you like going to the library so much.”

“Shush, you,” he scolded as he leaned forward to grab the half-full bottle of wine to refill his own glass. “That’s only one aspect of our passion. We love fiercely, fight even more so. It’s a measure of extremes at times so severe one would think it contradicts itself. But somehow it doesn’t. It’s just … how we express ourselves, I suppose.”

The Bull grunted and the room grew uncomfortably quiet, at least for Dorian. He’d delved far deeper than he meant in a subject that was obviously a bit touchy for The Bull. And why wouldn’t it be? He was no stranger to family issues, though compared to the Qunari beside him, his seemed exceedingly dull indeed.

Clearing his throat, he offered once more, “I apologise, I did not mean to tread where I was not wanted.”

Once again, The Bull waved him off. “What’s done is done. How were you to know?”

“All the same …”

The Iron Bull chuckled. “Stubborn as ever, eh?” Downing the rest of the mug of ale he’d been slowly nursing, he admitted, “Didn’t say I had no friends, though.”

“Oh? Now this sounds interesting. Do tell.”

“His name’s Krem. He’s a ‘Vint, too, but not like you.”

“Well of course, there’s no one quite like me.”

The Bull rolled his eyes. “I mean he doesn’t do magic.”

“Ah. A Soporati, then.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“And where is he, then?”

The Bull shrugged. “Somewhere in Orlais, last I heard, making his way as a mercenary.”

“A mercenary? Interesting.” There were few Tevinter mercenaries and most were criminals who were unable to find other legitimate work, and so Dorian couldn’t deny that he was intrigued at how they had stumbled across each other.

“He’s not a criminal,” The Iron Bull spoke aloud, as if reading his thoughts. “At least, not like what you’re thinking.”

“And how do you know what I’m thinking, hmm?”

“Just a guess,” he threw back, winking at him. Or, at least, what he once again assumed was a wink.

“So how did you meet, then?”

At that, it seemed The Bull had reached his limit on that particular branch of the conversation. “Not my story to tell, really. But,” he added leaning forward, his lips stretching wider in a grin, “can’t have you thinking I’m some _lone wolf_ out here.”

Dorian groaned at the pun, rolling his eyes as The Bull’s hearty laugh bounced off the walls.


	4. Chapter 4

As he turned in for bed that evening, Dorian mused over their discussion. He and his new bodyguard – he supposed he would have to stop using the term “new” sometime soon, at the rate they were going – they were no stranger to conversation. But this had been the first time that something deeply personal had been brought up. He mused it likely would have happened sooner or later, and considering The Bull’s mostly good-hearted reaction, it didn’t seem he was out a valuable employee, either. Both of those facts were good, of course, save for one thing.

Now that he knew a small facet of The Bull’s life previous to Dorian hiring him, he now wanted to know more. He hungered, _yearned_ for it, in fact. But it seemed his situation was not exactly run of the mill and he didn’t want to scare him off just for curiousity’s sake.

Which, that was another thing that unsettled him a little as he pulled the silken sheets around him. The Iron Bull was an employee of his, and while he was the first personal bodyguard he’d hired, in truth he was little different than a servant or a butler, people he hired all the time. But somehow he stuck out, his presence difficult to forget, and not just because he was following him around all the time. There was just … something about him that had crawled into Dorian’s brain and settled in, refusing to leave as it set up shop.

He shook his head as he yawned. _You’re overthinking it, Pavus,_ he scolded himself, and with that he forcefully banished that line of thinking from his head, content to let sleep overtake him.

+

As the weeks wound down and the Archon’s Ball drew closer, things seemed to get more and more hectic for everyone. No small surprise really, as those who were sweating last-minute invitations were desperate to arrange something gaudy to wear and those who hadn’t received any invitation at all were either trying to procure one or making a show of turning their nose up at it, as if they were too good for all the hullabaloo.

Dorian was all the more glad that he’d set in motion orders for The Iron Bull in advance, taking him to a few fittings to make sure things were going swimmingly, and indeed it seemed they were. The large Qunari scowled a little at having the luxurious materials pulled over him and cinched and pinned and measured and re-measured, but if anything it amused his employer. “You looked as though you were a man tortured,” he noted as they left the tailor’s shop.

The Bull grunted. “Sorry,” he replied, the sarcasm practically dripping onto the street, “it’s been a while since I last went to a ball. I forgot my shiny armour in my other hide.”

Dorian chuckled. “Yes, poor you, subjected to velvets and silks. Whatever will you do?”

The bodyguard shot him a scowl, but a grin was already tugging at his lips. “Rip it the first chance I get.”

Amused though he was, Dorian still made a show of tutting. “Well, this comes with the territory of being a Magister, and likewise being a Magister’s personal bodyguard. If this is too _taxing_ a burden for you to bear …”

There it was, that deep, rough laugh that pulled at something deep within Dorian. “Eh, roughing it’s not so bad.”

The smile that spread across his face was one that Dorian couldn’t have held back even if he’d tried. “Excellent. I would hate to run you off with all this luxury.”

The Bull locked his eye with him. “It takes a lot more than this to run me off, boss.”

In the deepest part of him, Dorian desperately hoped that was true, even if he didn’t quite understand why he wished it so.

+

The Archon’s Ball, as it was known, was really more of a general Royal Jubilee celebrating the founding and subsequent greatness of Tevinter as the oldest recorded human civilisation in Thedas. If there was one thing that most Magisters loved more than luxury and an excuse for preening, it was metaphorically licking the Archon’s asshole for the taste. And while Dorian might enjoy such an activity for the pleasure of it, pretending all was well and good and maintaining the status quo to the ignorance of problematic issues was not something he looked forward to.

But the wine was heavenly, at least, and the options given for eating throughout the evening? Practically divine. Nothing but the best from the Archon.

And so as Dorian readied throughout the day, his normal schedule thrown completely out the window as he opted instead for baths and face masks and a massage or two before sending for his favourite barber to give him a quick shave and trim before Dorian himself styled his hair, a task he rarely delegated to others. As he pulled on the dark robes – dark enough that, should any blood accidentally spill, it wouldn’t show – Dorian mused that the billowing fabric was light enough that it floated around him as if it were a cloud. It was a purposeful choice, a step just to the right of the heavy robes that most in Tevinter favoured. Not enough to stick out like a sore thumb, but it gave just that little oomph of separation that he wanted that radiated _I’m not like you._ Combined with the gold rings and bracelets and necklaces and earrings – even a circlet! – that adorned him, the shimmery fabric coalesced around his body with a certain grace that no one would be able to ignore.

Which was the whole point, really.

As striking of a picture he was sure he was painting for himself, he stopped dead in his tracks to see The Iron Bull in his brand new dress uniform. The fabric hugged his body just right, fitted well to his figure, emphasising his muscled arms and broad shoulders. The detailing was equally as magnificent, the bits and bobs of gold and shining thread corresponding well to the golden adornments that fitted to his horns. Even his normal, worn eyepatch had been traded out for one encrusted with jewels and hung from its normal spot on his horn by a thin chain. It was gloriously luxurious and yet, at the same time, terrifyingly intimidating.

A small smile tugged at his lips at the thought of The Bull accompanying him that evening, at how the other Magisters would stare, startled at the sight at first before they withdrew from him. Flashing around someone like The Bull was like prematurely throwing down a gauntlet, daring anyone to make a move. And only someone exceedingly foolish would take such a bait.

But if they did, then so much the better.

The Iron Bull met his gaze, just the barest hint of nervousness shining in his eye. As impressive as he looked, Dorian could tell from his posture that he was unused to this, off-kilter. He smiled, a mask he donned that slid into place as he asked, “What do you think?”

Dorian approached him slowly, his eyes raking up and down the large Qunari’s body, taking his time and his pleasure as he surveyed him. The closer he got, the stronger his scent became, until he stood in front of The Bull and felt as if it enveloped him like a blanket. Just like that day in the market, it seemed a struggle for Dorian to hold on to his higher brain functioning, but he was nothing if not determined. The closer he got to him, however, the further it felt like he sank within the Qunari’s scent as it filled his nostrils and permeated his entire being. It wasn’t quite the feeling of drunkenness, exactly, but more as if he was on his way. Tipsy, perhaps. Certainly less reserved as he fixed The Bull with a stare, letting a finger run up the intricate seams on the outer jacket as he told him, “Were we in a relationship, I would have you pin me against that table over there and fuck me into the void.”

The grin that grew on The Iron Bull’s face was vicious in its wickedness, in the way it made Dorian’s knees weak and his mouth go dry. “And what’s stopping me?”

With that, Dorian felt like all breath left him. Just what in the Maker’s blessed name had he said? _Only what you wanted,_ a small voice echoed in his mind. It took an enormous amount of will to not give in, to instead scrape together what remnants of his functioning brain he could and stutter out, “We’ll be late.”

He chuckled. “You’re always late.”

Huffing, Dorian replied, “There’s a fine line between fashionably late and _late_.”

The Iron Bull held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. Lead the way, boss.”

As he turned to leave the room, his bodyguard in tow, he wondered if being actually late might not be worth it after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER FOR BLOOD AND SOME GORY ELEMENTS
> 
> I know I have things tagged, but it hasn't really come up in the story yet so I wanted to give y'all an extra warning that, uh, yeah. It's coming. It's mostly this chapter and a little of the next two.

In the centre of Minrathous stood the grand palace that the Archon occupied, it’s height and splendor speaking directly of the excesses of Tevinter high society. It’s tall stone walls were immaculately clean, so much so they seemed to shine even in the moonlight. The tallest towers rose high in the sky before sloping off into the main bulk of the building, a small, man-made mountain range in the midst of the capitol city. When he was growing up, his father would often point it out, telling him,  _ “One day, that’s where you will live when you take on the title of Archon.” _ Halward had been so sure, so confident in his proclamation, like it had never even entered his mind for a moment that he could be wrong. He’d never foreseen how his son would be rebellious, how he’d fight for reform rather than the status quo in order to keep and advance his position. While not entirely out of reach, his current reputation meant that if Dorian was to become Archon, it would take a lot of work and more than a smidgen of luck.

But then again, Dorian had worked with less before and come out on top.

He made one last cursory check of his robes and The Bull’s uniform before they were ushered inside, the Magister sighing with faux long-suffering as he was announced. Oh he liked the attention, of course, the glances thrown his way, the whispers that followed in his wake. But as a newly-minted Magister, it was in poor taste to flaunt just how much he enjoyed it. That was for the well-established members of the Magisterium who commanded much power and praise. Dorian hadn’t even had the chance to make his mark just yet, but he would. One day. Until then, he played the game of a modest newcomer.

Well, modest for Tevinter, of course.

The inside of the palace was just as large and even more opulent than the outside, brightly coloured tapestries in rich fabrics covering the stone walls and thick rugs and carpets on the floors that Dorian could have practically sank into. Various bits and bobs of furniture was scattered around – a chaise lounge here, a small table there – to facilitate the needs of what each guest might desire. Dorian was equally sure that there were empty rooms that lovers – both secretive and not – could duck into to steal some time alone. He spotted such a couple not too long after he arrived, the lady excusing herself and tossing a glance back at her intended before she ducked out of the room, the man following within a few minutes. “Ah, to be young again,” he commented to The Bull as he pointed them out.

“You’re not old,” his bodyguard countered.

Dorian harrumphed. “I’m old enough to know better. This soiree is for making connections, networking, not for having a tryst.” And with that, Dorian set to work, greeting the few friends he knew and allowing them to introduce him to other people. Within the hour, he’d met a high-ranking judge, an influential merchant, and a famed architect. The Iron Bull kept close to him, silent, observing for threat, though he ended up on the receiving end of many compliments. The Qunari seemed a tad flustered upon being complimented for something other than how he split someone’s head open, but he politely accepted them with a nod of his head before returning to his watch.

Maevaris fluttered to his side, her dark robes swirling around her as she took Dorian by the arm. “Fashionably late as always,” she noted.

“Why of course, you know I can never be right on time with these things. It will set a standard that I am uninterested in maintaining.”

She laughed, a sparkling, bouncing trill before she motioned. “You really should sample some of the offerings tonight, dear, they are fantastic.” Mae grinned, revealing fangs that were already stained with blood, and a deep hunger almost punched Dorian in the gut. He allowed his fellow Magister to loop an arm around his shoulder and guide him away, both Faust and The Iron Bull trailing behind.

The pungent aroma of blood hit him in the face as they entered the dining room, and no wonder as there were various and a sundry guests scattered around, feeding. He was nigh dizzy as the overwhelming, multi-layered scents assaulted his senses, and he almost wanted to turn and run out of the room, run and bury his face in … in …

Shaking it off, he followed Mae to one of the servants, who was able to give him the rundown on exactly who and what was still available. After all, they would only be able to withstand a couple of feedings before they expired, which was not ideal. Not that every Magister cared that they overexerted their meals, it was just a common courtesy that as guests, they left their meals intact afterwards, unless given express permission otherwise. The Archon certainly had a variety of nationalities and species, and as he listened to the listing, Dorian felt something in his gut twist as The Iron Bull stood by just behind him. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d fed in front of his bodyguard, but something about the situation as a whole was sending his mind into a tailspin of conflict. Truth be told, he was hardly even listening, and he just barely managed to remember his order – a young Rivaini selkie – as the servant hustled away to fetch the meal. Meanwhile, Maevaris gestured toward the various seating arrangements, and Dorian chose the first one he stumbled upon, a plush loveseat in a dark red velvet, a certain restlessness overtaking him. While he normally adored a social function like this, he suddenly wanted nothing more than … his fist clenched as he realised he’d much rather be home, sharing a drink near the fire with The Iron Bull, enjoying both the conversation and the scent that enveloped him.

The meal that approached him, however, he knew right away was not what he had ordered, but he was intimately familiar with him nonetheless. That light, breezy, aromatic scent tinged with floral notes had his head snapping up, and while he wanted to gape, he kept himself composed as he looked up at Rilienus. Skin tan, high cheekbones even more defined since the last time he’d seen the fae, his lips curled into a little half-smile. “Hello, Dorian,” he said smoothly, voice low and soft as he told him, “I hope you don’t mind, but I remember how you liked to drink from me.” Before Dorian could quite process what was happening, Rilienus had climbed into his lap and tilted his head to the side, exposing the side he already knew Dorian would prefer. “Go on,” he purred.

Confused though he was at the turn of events, he wasn’t about to turn down a good meal. Baring his fangs, he sunk them into the meat of Rilienus’ neck, snapping through the skin with no hesitation. He tasted blood before he even withdrew his teeth, sealing his lips over the punctures and running his tongue over them before gently sucking. The sweet, familiar tang hit his tongue, and with each drop came a memory. Long nights spent studying together in libraries, the feel of a soft hand brushing over his own, skipping class to steal what moments they could … they had been so young, then, so naïve to the machinations of the world they lived in. On top of navigating around the social implications of two men being together, Dorian was from a high class, well known vampiric family, same as the rest of the Magisterium, while Rilienus was a fae from a lesser family, merely two generations established in the upper middle class of Tevinter. Their fling had been intense, but their world had made it brief, and Dorian sometimes wondered what might have been had their circumstances been different.

While he had indeed fed from him before, he was surprised that Rilienus didn’t quite taste the same as he remembered. Perhaps it was the passing of time, perhaps it was just the nostalgia colouring his memories, but it just wasn’t the same. Just as they weren’t the same. He felt an odd pang of longing, of regret, but not at what might have been, rather that the experience didn’t measure up to what it had been. If this had happened perhaps a few months before, Dorian might have felt a little differently, might have reached out to attempt to rekindle what they had. But at the moment, with The Iron Bull’s scent still strong in his nostrils, all such thoughts were long banished from his mind.

If anything, the Qunari’s scent only grew stronger, as if asserting its own dominance, but he quickly realised the reason as Rilienus was suddenly and unceremoniously yanked from his lap, an intimidating growl tearing from The Bull’s throat. Shock and surprise just didn’t quite cover it, and he was about to loudly admonish his bodyguard even as Rilienus’ blood still dripped from his lips when he spotted it himself.

A dagger. In Rilienus’ hand. Made of stormheart.

His anger quickly rechanneled itself from being directed at The Iron Bull to Rilienus. “And just what is the meaning of this?” he demanded as he procured a handkerchief from the depths of his robes to wipe away the blood that had dribbled down his chin.

A half-chuckle from the fae before he replied, “Oh Dorian, I wish it hadn’t needed to be you.”

The Iron Bull snatched him up in a yoke, smearing some of Rilienus’ blood across his arm. His tone was low and dangerous, just this side of a growl as he told him, “You gonna talk or am I going to snap your neck right now?”

Defeat coloured Rilienus’ eyes as he gazed at Dorian, almost as if he regretted it as he told him, “It’s so hard to get ahead here. Not like you would know anything about that, you were practically born with a silverite spoon up your pretty arse. I didn’t want the target to be you but I was told it had to be. You weren’t falling in line.”

Dorian snorted, only half wondering just who would send his former lover after him as he said aloud, “Ah, so that’s what this is all about? Take out the up and coming progressive Magister and your family ascends?”

A sad quirk of a smile tugged at Rilienus’ lips. “It was nothing personal, Dorian. But really, how did you think the assassin got that far into your estate? I gave him the back way that I always used to sneak in. Remember?”

That he remembered well from their fling, as there was a certain series of corridors and stairs that led straight to his chambers and bypassed many of the traffic-heavy hallways that most of the servants used. It was completely unknown to anyone who didn’t have experience at the Pavus estate … not even all of the workers there knew of it. But that did answer a lot of questions for Dorian, questions that he hadn’t truly even wanted answers to. It was all well and good when the assassins were sent by a faceless threat. To know it was someone he knew, however, and not just knew but felt deeply for once upon a time … the betrayal wrenched his gut as he stared down his former lover, his gaze hardening. Anything he might have felt for Rilienus, any lingering affection borne of nostalgia was banished from his mind and from his heart.

He didn’t hesitate. It only took five words from Dorian, five little words that slipped effortlessly from his lips. “Bull, take care of him.”

The Iron Bull didn’t hesitate. Baring his fangs, he sank his teeth into the fae’s neck and ripped it open, blood gushing down Rilienus’ chest in a steady stream before his body was dropped to the floor. Since he’d presented a threat to a guest, his life was forfeit, and Dorian would likely only receive an admonishment for the mess, a slap on the wrist more than anything else for public image’s sake.

After all, what was a ball in Tevinter if a little blood wasn’t spilt? Nothing of note, that was for certain. And if Dorian just happened to be in the middle of it, well, then that was just how it was. Not exactly how he’d planned to get attention, but of course with a big, hulking Qunari bodyguard, one had to keep up the image of such ferocity or else allow an air of weakness to be shown. In Tevinter, such things was simply blood in the water, and they both would have been swallowed up whole should such a thing be allowed to happen. As it was, however, it would seem that the picture of The Iron Bull tearing out the fae’s throat was an image that was bound to stick in each and every Magisters mind for a long time to come.


	6. Chapter 6

Dorian wavered on the couch, lightheaded and dizzy, but not from the excess of blood. No, instead it was The Iron Bull’s scent, heady and overwhelming that washed over him. Why was it so strong like this? And why did it affect him so? He felt a strong hand grip his shoulder, help him to his feet, guide him out from the hall, but he struggled to stay upright and appear unaffected. His senses were muddled, and he felt nigh blind as he simply followed, his vision blurring and his hearing muffled, replaced instead with the thudding rhythm of his heartbeat. “W-what is  _ wrong _ ?” he demanded as soon as he was pretty sure they were out of earshot of anyone else.

“Sorry,” The Iron Bull hissed, “it’s hard to control this time of the month.”

“Control what? At what time of month?” Dorian wracked his brain for what was so special about this particular date other than the Archon’s ball, but he wasn’t coming up with anything.

A low chuckle was all the reply he got at first, then the sound of pouring liquid in front of him. “Here, splash your face. It’ll help.”

He did so dutifully, taking care to not smear the eyeliner nor rumple his moustache any more than necessary. To his surprise, his hands trembled ever so slightly, an action so subtle he hadn’t noticed it before. He blinked several times, his vision beginning to clear, and he realised The Bull had taken him to one of the secluded side rooms, if he had to guess. The bowl of water in front of him sat on a table at the foot of an expansive bed, arranged with silken sheets and thick blankets to rival even what Dorian himself owned. The sturdy table and nearby dresser was made of dark, intricately carved wood that looked to be imported from the Anderfels, if Dorian knew anything about furniture (which he most definitely did), and of course dotted about the room was various decorative vases and plants, again, all likely imported from various countries like Antiva and Rivain.

Getting his wandering eye under control, he glanced over at The Bull, cocking an eyebrow as he asked once again, “What did you mean earlier?”

The Iron Bull grimaced, suddenly looking sheepish – if such a thing could be said of a werewolf – as he admitted, “Our scent … it gets stronger around the full moon. If we shift, it helps work its way out of our system, but if we don’t, well …” The bodyguard threw a wink in his direction as he told him, “Pretty sure you got a good nostril full at the market.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“When you hired me.” The Iron Bull chuckled as he entreated, “Come now, Dorian, let’s not play games. It wasn’t my muscles or my experience that led you to me. If you had some more muscle on you, you would have knocked me over trying to find that scent … and when you figured out it was me, I was pretty sure you were gonna stare a hole through me.” Flashing his fangs in a grin, he added, “I take it you liked what you smelled.”

If Dorian had insisted he didn’t blush, he would have been a liar, as his cheeks were blazing at the realisation that he definitely was not as subtle as he had been hoping he was. Clearing his throat, he pointed out, “Your scent has been strong all day, yes, same as the marketplace, but it hasn’t completely overwhelmed me like that.”

To which it was The Iron Bull’s turn to get flustered yet again. “Yeah, it’s, ah … a thing that happens …”

“A thing?” Dorian asked, eyebrows raised in curiousity.

“When we get protective of … you know … someone close to us.”

Dorian couldn’t resist prodding further. “Someone close?” When The Bull didn’t answer right away, he slunk closer to his bodyguard, fingertips just barely brushing the rich fabric of the custom made jacket that stretched over that board figure just so. “I take it you don’t simply mean proximity, do you?”

“Not exactly, no,” the Qunari confirmed. Sighing, he explained, “When someone we care about is threatened, we put out a lot of scent. Like marking our territory, I guess, if you want to look at it that way. It’s involuntary …” Snorting, he added, “Heh, removing you was really more about removing me, making sure nobody else got overwhelmed.”

Seeing the opportunity before him – and not one to simply toss it away – he leaned forward and got a good whiff, especially around The Bull’s neck, eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he pulled away. “This scent … does it have any other affects?”

His replying chuckle was low and heady. “No, it’s just to alert, to … mark territory, if you will.”

“I see. So any attraction to this scent would be …”

“Coincidence.”

“Quite.”

“Hmm,” was all The Iron Bull grunted in response.

Dorian suddenly realised just how close they were standing, his senses on high alert, but not because of danger. No, for quite another reason entirely. The air around him practically  _ vibrated _ with unsaid want and need, that deep, musky scent washing over him again, but not in a way that overwhelmed him this time. No, it was like being wrapped in a comforting cocoon of warmth and the Magister threw all caution to the wind as he asked, “Bull, do you remember what I propositioned earlier? Before we left my estate?”

That wolfish grin answered before The Iron Bull even spoke. “Of course I do. Why, you wanna take me up on that now?”

Dorian chuckled. “So you were serious? Eagre to fuck your own employer, hmm?”

“As eagre as you were to fuck your own employee,” The Bull shot right back at him, leaning down into his space.

There was much not being said between the two of them, things that Dorian just knew would come up later, that they would need to talk over and discuss like adults, things that he wasn’t quite looking forward to even thinking about, much less voicing. But later for that.

Before they could get much further, however, The Bull held up a hand. “First things first, though.” Stepping back, he sat on the edge of the bed and tugged at his collar, unbuttoning the top buttons so he could more easily expose the skin underneath. “I know you didn’t get much from that fae, and you haven’t eaten for a little while.”

Dorian blinked. “You … you would allow me …?”

The Bull shrugged. “Why not?”

He could practically see the pulse point in The Bull’s neck from where he stood, throbbing in rhythm with the werewolf’s strong heartbeat. It echoed a rushing melody all its own, pulling him in as he moved closer and closer to the bed. Werewolves were not particularly known as a delicacy in the Imperium, but Dorian found he hungered for a taste as he allowed his bodyguard to pull him into his lap, a juxtaposition from the earlier bodily arrangement with Rilienus. Instead of him holding his meal in his lap, his meal held him, and the concept both frightened and excited him. Vampires were not prey animals, did not like to leave themselves vulnerable, and yet he found he so easily surrendered as he leaned over and gently laved his tongue against the point he wanted to press his fangs into.

Light. Salty. Aromatic. With a musky, smoky undertone that registered simply as wild. Feral. The Bull grunted, his grip around Dorian tightening ever so slightly, but he remained still, allowing the Magister to enjoy his meal as he pleased. The barest hint of a smile tugged at Dorian’s lips as he ran his tongue over his fangs, nicking the small muscle in the process, the sharp, intense taste of his own blood filling his mouth and his senses. He laved over the spot once more, coating it in a light layer of red, allowing his blood to act as a numbing agent to take away as much of the pain of latching as possible. It was impossible to completely numb, and most of the time no one bothered to offer such a courtesy as the initial bite was brief. But Dorian did it anyway, did it without thinking about it before he sank his fangs into The Iron Bull’s flesh.


	7. Chapter 7

The spurt of fresh blood in his mouth washed over him, sending a delighted thrill through his body as his mouth watered, the saliva countering the blood he’d laid down so that it wouldn’t clot too quickly. He moaned at the sensation, holding back no longer as he took hold, carefully draining The Bull of just enough sustenance. Too much and it would be detrimental to the Qunari, but not enough could potentially leave him starved for his next meal, and should he go into that meal starved, well … his meal likely wouldn’t make it out. It was a delicate balancing act, but one that Dorian had played at many times before, and The Bull, to his credit, never flinched once as he fed.

His taste was unique, just as unique as The Iron Bull, strong and heady and satisfying. And because of their position and their close contact, Dorian couldn’t help but feel himself grow hard as he sat there, straddling The Bull’s lap. Normally he would have been embarrassed, would have scrambled away and wiped his lips, composing himself into that inscrutable mask he normally wore. But he ignored that instinct, giving in to the moment as he subtly ground against another growing hardness, this one in The Bull’s own trousers. Then and only then did The Bull utter a sound, a grunt, but instead of flinching away, he simply reached between them and directly rubbed against Dorian through the Magister’s robes without missing a beat. Dorian moaned into his neck, hurrying with his meal so as to get to the dessert.

As soon as he felt himself satisfied, he unlatched, teeth tearing into his tongue again so he could lave it against the wound, a measure to both ease the soreness and encourage coagulation. It would have been fine on its own, but once again, Dorian found himself tending far more to The Bull than he did any other meal he normally had. The bodyguard flinched once against the sting but otherwise sat still, allowing the Magister to finish tending to him.

The moment he was done, however, Dorian found himself suddenly unseated, tumbling disconcertingly through the air for a fraction of a second before strong arms encircled and steadied him before guiding him to …

To a table. Very similar to one in his room, one he’d pointed out to The Bull that he’d wanted the bodyguard to fuck him against.  _ Void take me. _

His breath was pushed out of him as he landed against the smooth surface of the rich wood, shining with lacquer, The Bull’s weight close behind him. Searching hands worked their way under his clothes, tugging and pulling until Dorian felt the cool expanse of air hit exposed skin. A moan wrested from his throat as he felt The Iron Bull run his tongue over the curve of his ass, dipping in between the cleft and teasing his puckered hole. It was his turn, then, to receive, his head hitting the cool surface as The Bull did with him what he would, their positions and roles changed so radically from just a few moments before. While before, Dorian might have fought it, might have struggled against being rendered submissive, this time he reveled in it, knowing he was safe in The Iron Bull’s care. His breath hitched as that wet muscle worked its way inside him, teasing him as much as it was testing the waters, ensuring he was aroused and relaxed enough for what would come next.

And oh how Dorian couldn’t wait for that.

Even as The Bull worked him apart, he heard him fumbling with something, a frustrated growl vibrating through the Qunari’s throat before a distinctive rip of fabric sounded through the air, causing Dorian to jump. “What was that?” he managed to gasp.

The Bull paused his ministrations just enough to reply. “Told you I’d rip this first chance I get. I always keep my promises.”

Dorian was about to protest with a snarky remark that he hadn’t technically promised anything, but that technicality soon fled from his mind as he felt an oiled finger sink into his ass. All thought of protest left his mind as the only thing he could process was, “Where did you get oil from?”

A dark chuckle sounded from behind him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He quickly decided it very much didn’t matter as The Bull worked a second digit inside him, easing him open with a gentleness that wasn’t truly needed but that he wasn’t about to protest because it felt too good. Two became three, and three surprisingly became four, and Dorian wondered briefly if he meant to fit his whole hand up there before he fucked him. As it turned out, the testing was for good reason, as by the time he slathered up his own hard member and slowly began to penetrate him, Dorian figured the circumference of both his hand and his dick seemed similar enough that it likely didn’t matter. Either way, The Bull went slow, both of them breathing through it so as to relax and not lose control respectively. It felt like an eternity before he felt The Bull’s thighs against his hips, and by then he was so full he thought he might burst. Oh but that was but a small price to pay for pleasure like this as The Bull’s member dragged so deliciously against his walls as he slowly withdrew, applying more oil before pressing inside him once more, ensuring no discomfort on either of their parts.

If they’d tried this before the ball, Dorian reckoned he might never have made it there at all with how patient they had to be, but once they finally got a rhythm going, he realised he very much might not have cared at all. Perhaps a little, in the very back of his mind, but that soon would have been banished and Dorian didn’t care to think if he should have been concerned about that or not. Nothing much mattered beyond the steady rhythm of the thick member inside him, taking him apart thrust by thrust.

The Bull’s vigorous movements started knocking against the table, moving it bit by bit as it scraped against the floor, helpless against the actions being performed on it. Dorian idly thought that he was glad it wasn’t his own table, that his might not have stood up to the action quite like he’d thought it would when suddenly he was pulled off of it. More ripping from The Iron Bull’s end and with a few tugs Dorian’s own robes fell off, both of them tumbling into the bed as naked as when they were born. The Bull faced him now as he slowly penetrated him again, the gold bands and chains on his horns shining in the lamplight as he hovered over top of him. Dorian figured he hadn’t seen a more gorgeous sight in all his life.

And then The Bull leaned down to kiss him and his heart beat painfully in his chest, something in the back of his mind flaring as it realised this was their first kiss. How wonderfully backward it all seemed. Normally first kisses were reserved for shy, unsure moments as burgeoning lovers tested the waters, dipping their toe in the surf before taking the plunge beneath the waves. But, as always, Dorian had simply dove in head first, heedless of what might lie beneath the surface and eagre to instead see what he could find and experience. So it only seemed fitting that The Bull had already been fucking him to kingdom come before they’d even thought to kiss.

But if anything, the wait made it well worth it, The Bull’s tongue breaching Dorian’s mouth in such a similar way to his cock, immediately dominating everything in its path. And Dorian, surprising even himself, submitted so willingly and sweetly to it, not even questioning it for a moment as he moaned beneath him, writhing as his hips sought more and more friction. His bodyguard – could he even call him that in his mind in such an intimate moment? – reached between them, oil-slicked hand working over the Magister’s length with a prowess that would have spoken to years of experience between them, not a first time. But then again, The Bull had always been far more intuitive and smart than he initially appeared to be, one of the many qualifications Dorian had laid out for a bodyguard that the Qunari had fulfilled simply by existing. As his end neared, he hazily opened his eyes to see the shine of gold against the sheen of The Bull’s well-polished horns, and he figured even if this killed him, it had been well worth the experience.

It did not, of course, do anything of the sort, though he did wonder for a quick moment as an orgasm washed over him so intensely he thought he might have momentarily blacked out. But no, he was awake, conscious,  _ alive _ , oh so alive as he drew in deep, shuddering breaths. The Iron Bull withdrawing had a long, heady moan pulled from deep within him and he winced with the beginnings of soreness that were starting to present. In the moment, of course, he’d barely noticed, but he would certainly be feeling it later.  _ Oh well. Price well paid. _

The Iron Bull cleaned them up and then reclined on the bed near Dorian, who was sprawled out on his stomach, having barely enough energy to protest when his newly-minted lover gave his sore arse a soft slap. Chuckling, the werewolf commented, “I thought you said you knew better than to have a tryst during the Archon’s fancy party.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, I had neglected to mention some … mitigating circumstances.”

“Oh? And what would that be?”

Flashing his fangs in a grin, he replied simply, “I do what I want.”

The Iron Bull’s raucous laughter echoed through the spare room. “So it’s more of a ‘do as I say, not as I do’ situation?”

“I’d say it’s more of a goose and gander thing, myself.”

“Mmmhmm,” The Bull hummed, obviously not quite buying what Dorian was saying, but allowing him the space for denial anyway.

_ This is nice, _ Dorian mused as he drifted into a light doze, full and sated in more than one way, sleep calling him though the night was yet young. He’d have to catch up with Mae, he needed to follow up on some leads and some introductions he’d been given earlier in the evening, there were at least a dozen little tasks he could almost mechanically list off the top of his head that he needed to be doing other than lying in a bed with his werewolf bodyguard. Funny thing, Magister Pavus found he couldn’t be bothered with any of it. Truly, only one thing occupied the forefront of his mind, and only one thought was enough to break through the haze left in The Iron Bull’s wake.

He was going to owe Mae something sinfully extravagant for pushing him to the market that day. But first, a little rest. With The Bull on watch, he could be sure he’d be safe and secure no matter where he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! I might be tempted to add on a couple of one shots here and there in the future (maybe) but otherwise I hope you enjoyed my contribution to the Adoribull Big Bang 2020. Make sure you go show the artists and other authors some love, too!


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